monkeyplus1

on my way downtown last night, I’ve got the butterflies churning in the guts. My hands are a little clammy, having to remind myself to take deep, slow breaths, take it easy, I’ve done this a hundred times.

We have lots of time to set up, but never get around to an actual sound-check.

Sclr starts playing some stuff, and I’m set to go next, waiting for someone, ANYONE to show up. My brother rolls in the door, then two, three, four friends. Gritty had called me up, and said he was going to get something to eat, and then would show up with some friends. If he ever did show up, I didn’t see him. Wasn’t expecting him to, since I’ve only seen one of his band’s shows, and showed up late at that.

So I’m jabbering away, talking some friends when there’s silence, and I hear my name called from the “stage”. Sclr’s set is done, he’s ready for me to go on. “Oh!”, everybody is turned around, all eyes are on me, stepping over patch cables to the table where my laptop is set up.

I start playing an audio-file that begins with an alarm sound that is supposed to play in the left channel, then the right, but I’m only hearing one. Cables are swapped out, direct-boxes are swapped out, we try everything. Fuck it, it’ll be in mono.

First song goes OK, I take a drink while the instruments for the next song load up. I do my damnest to play well, and before I know it, I’ve played the last song, and the room of a half-dozen people applaud.

The guy that played after me, “Go-Yo!” had an interesting set, using contact microphones, stuff in a metal bowl, an electribe, and other things he pulled out of a big pull-along case.

When I introduced myself to the last guy that played (”Hellucination of Virulency”), gave my name and monniker as “monkey plus one”, he asked if 10 years ago, I did a project with Jennifer Robin. Yep, I say, you heard it? He couldn’t remember for sure, says he dated her about 7 years ago. Small fuckin world, eh?

So, this guy sets up 5 or 6 (or more) boom boxes on the floor, puts unmarked tapes into each one, including a little walkman with mini-speakers on the table I’m sitting at, and presses play on all of them, each emitting a loud, but strangely pleasant cloud of noise. His involvement in his set amounts to smoking a cigarette, walking around with a pocket flashlight to examine where the cassettes are, occasionally swapping one out for another. It could have been my imagination, but there was a point where they all seemed to reach a subtle peak. A very nice way to end the night, though I felt bad most everyone left immediately after my set and missed the following ones. Fucking wednesday night…

Sleepy today. Head a little sore from whiskey and second-hand smoke, but I’ll live. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to play a live show, and while I give away my music on the internet, it is always cool to play it directly to other people in person, and have that immediate feedback.

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so yeah, I’ve got that live show on Wednesday.

I’ve practiced - twice now. A miracle in itself. It’s gonna be good, at least, I’ll like it.

my “12 parties” album has been downloaded 17 times, though I’ve gotten a couple hundred listens off various websites where a few tracks are posted. pathetic, but I’m not a good self-promoter, not that I think there’s a big audience for this kind of stuff… well, if any of the 17 that downloaded it listened to it, liked it, and shows up on Wednesday, I’ll have a treat of a set of mostly new material not on 12 parties.

maybe I’ve just been out of the game too long, monkey plus-who?

like I say, though, I’m stoked to be back in the saddle for another gig.

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so, I’m getting over a cold this weekend, laying up watching season 1 of “Deadwood”, wrapped in blankets.

Knock knock, it’s my neighbor Gerald. He’s visibly upset, trembling even.

He’s watched me bust my ass all summer landscaping my yard, and he saw some kids from down the street romping through my yard like they owned it, tearing apart some plants. He told them to get off my lawn, and either the 10 yr old or the 11 yr old boy called him a bitch. So he knocks on my door.

Gerald is retired, or on disability of some kind (though he doesn’t look it), lives alone, and (I believe) is terrified of black people. He used to have the gay rainbow sticker on his truck, and though he is, took it off when some black dude walking by called him a faggot.

So, there’s three kids that live a few houses down, fucking up my yard. I know them all, Decourtney, a 13-yr old boy, Darius, a cousin that is about 10, and probably has a few years left before he gets himself incarcerated (no joke, future criminal right there), and Decourtney’s little sister Yelly, who is 6. Decourntey’s working on the player look, so he’s the only one of them who looks even moderately clean, and wearing shoes.

My first, and lasting impression of Yelly is a 6 year old kid, dirty cornrows and clothes, riding a bike 3 years too small for her, with a perpetual flat rear tire, in the middle of the street, no helmet, no shoes… at 9pm.  I felt bad for the kid, and offered to fix her flat. I took the tire off, and it had already been patched three times. I patched it again, it was flat the next day.

Their parents are all complete fuck-ups, mom seems to have issues, maybe drugs, who knows, their dad… well, of the half-dozen or so that live in a one-bedroom house, I’ve never seen a dad, uncle or grandpa there. So, as you’d expect, either Decourtney, or his 12 year old sister Shavaughntay, is in charge.

Now, the kids are OK in my book, they usually don’t cause me any problems. I hired Decourtney earlier in the summer to help me shovel dirt. And Yelly (or Lily?) occasionally plays with my daughter, since they’re both 6. However, I won’t let Yelly in the house. There is no telling how often she bathes, and the only time I let her inside to play, I ended up shooing her out 10 minutes later, lighting incense, and setting up fans to blow the stink outside.

I go out there, all haggard and sickly. I see some leaves from one of my plants strewn all over the sidewalk, and the bark dust obviously been run through.

Darius denies everything. Decourtney is on his bmx in the middle of the street, looking pissed and surly. Yelly is keeping a safe distance from the drama. Darius is mouthing off, saying he has every right to be on the sidewalk. That’s not the problem, I tell him, but running through my yard wrecking shit is. Despite the evidence at my feet, he starts arguing. I raise my voice at him to tell him to be quiet. The kid knows no respect for adults, his mouthing off is going to end up getting him handcuffed in the back of a police cruiser the first time he has a run in with law.

Now, there really isn’t a big deal. And the last thing I want to do is get on the wrong side with these future thugs. There is no doubt in my mind, they would smash my car windows or destroy everything in my yard.

The problem I’m really having now seems to be with Gerald.

I tell him I’ll handle it, and he walks off. As soon as he’s gone, I explain, “look, man. I worked hard on that yard. I don’t let my kids run across it, and I don’t let them tear apart my plants. Now, you’re absolutely welcome to play on this sidewalk, but it is MY sidewalk, and I will chase you out of here if you don’t behave. Cool?”

They’re “cool”, and I go back inside. Gerald comes back about 10 minutes later, after the kids have gone home. I said, look dude, if they’re on your yard, it’s your problem. I appreciate you looking after my property, but next time, call me, and I’ll deal with them. You don’t want them getting revenge on you, do you? No, of course not. I can’t help it, but I am kind of talking to him like a kid. I’m out there mediating problems between neighborhood kids, solely because (a) I have kids, and (b) I own a corner lot where they naturally congregate.

Everything settled, my kids and I go out later, to play with Yelly and Darius, who are out in the street, just to smooth things over. I eventually go back inside, wrap up on the couch, grumbling “I don’t need this shit today.”

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so ja, never rains, but ho, it pours.

I practiced my entire live set for next week, actually made a recording of it -start to finish-, in case I forget to record it when live. it is good.

i’m sitting here, editing this post the morning after I wrote it. needing some coffee, feeling a little un-well… yarrrr

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so, let’s say you’re not so smart at some things.

no problem, everyone has their unique strengths. just gotta find it, why so hard?

that cursor’s blinking in your face, and because the screen is blank, you pound furiously at the ENTER/RETURN key on your keyboard.

your filthy, snot-encrusted laptop, tries to pretend that you didn’t just jab it in anger. fuckin computar? fuckin lady! shit! leave it alone, it’s prolly got windows, that shit takes time to boot.

i quote the ex-soviet union repair tech that replaced my cable modem yesterday, and his english probably sucked, but he easily conveyed a shrug of:

“hey, it’s the broken. We replace. No problem.”

Then my muthafawkin cheap router goes titties up, whu????

provided, I didn’t have a chair for this guy to sit on, my room was gutted when he showed up, I was writing code in the dining room, and staring out the window.

didn’t matter, he just sat on his haunches, not quite Chinese-style, but simply alternating between one knee on the ground. almost.

he says we should reboot our machines. he shuts his dell laptop down, ok, well,… it starts to shut down. I’m thinking it’s ridiculous, I’ve already logged in and out, but not reboot.

why the fuck not, this guy doesn’t seem to be in any kind of a hurry.

this attitude came through for me today. a saw gravy’s girl type friend ish at the coffee shop I went to get some wifi. pulled her hempskirt, smiled, O HAI!!

hey. eyes over to my screen, full of code (beautiful, artful and elegant)

whachu doin here?

workin. from home, but other places. like here.

I probably look ridiculous, in comparison to other people who go to coffee shops to surf teh intArwebz on the laptops. I have a slim, but full-sized keyboard, on my lap and under the table, where my hands lie.

With great reluctance do I reach up from the table to move the cursor with the mouse. I’m so old, computer mice are only a recent invention.

“Keyboard shortcuts, boy. Keyboard shortcuts.” The white-beareded teacher sits on one foot, defying gravity on a misty boulder.

“Yes, master,” searches his face, waiting for a pause, realizing none was coming. The teacher had disappeared once again into the mist.

–

yes, I said I wouldn’t help people with their microsoft problems anymore. yes, I have two macs, and save the xp machine on loan from work, to do the job “securely”.

I’ve got a story to tell you about that, about solving a ridiculous computer problem, for a dreadlocked mommy of two, neighbor friend…with a flashlight.

so, I was gonna write this story tomorrow, right? but you just couldn’t wait, could you? fine enough.

where was I? Dreadmommie.

Make a long story short, girl lives right around the corner, about three or four houses down. Gravy found her at his newfound media school, love and bone-age. the works, no details necessary. Gravy’s the biggest fawkin stoner in ptown, far as I know, his bounds are something of legend. Anyway, somehow, he’s never made it with a hippie chick.

dreds should tell you something. wild-eyebrows should tell you something very specific. come on, don’t make me spell it out.

nice girl, says her LCD is burned out. thinking LCD soundsystem, losing his edge. not quite. literally, has some filth-encrusted excuse for a laptop, fans whining in pain, that has its monitor burned out. She changed some setting on her computer, where an external monitor was supposed to echo what her screen would otherwise show.

turned out, one checkbox, and a reboot (which SHE suggested), was the trick. lolz.

goddamn. she say thank joo. I think, doctors and lawyers must always get hounded in a similar fashion when you tell someone you’re a software developer and their ears hear ‘COMPUTAR TEK SUPPORRT DUDE, BE NOICE.’ sure, nice, nice, nice.

the lcd on her laptop is burned out, she had it configured (by accident) for a 2nd monitor to “extend” her screen. winblows xp, mind joo. so, the external monitor is just fine, default xp cloud desktop. nothing on it, screen 1 burned out.

by chance, I noticed if I shone a flashlight RIGHT AT THE SCREEN, I could spot the mouse. From there, I could check out the DISPLAY setting.

OH MY FAWKING… GAWD!!

getting a computer to work, using a FLASHLIGHT?!! is there some kind of award for this shit? NO????!!!

WELLSZ, FUCK there should be.

needless to say, I fixed her fuckin laptop.

She said, “what do you do? program? whut?”

“databases. stuff. right?”
“databases? I need a database! I need some technology!” this hippy girl said, enthusiastically.

pause. I know she has no idea what a database is, much less why she would need one. my silent response elicited an elaboration:

“I need microsoft publisher, don’t care if it’s stolen” she says.

No surprise, once I got her stupid XP computer working, it kept saying “YO THIS SHIT IS STOLEN, I’M NOT GONNA UPDATE SHIT TILL YOU BUY THISS SHIT, SO FUCK YOU. CLICK OK TO CONTINUE”

click OK, fuck you too.

I wave my hand in an empty gesture. Empty because I’m gesturing at the mac powerbook I’m using. No windows, lady. never going back, not till they pay me to believe they got their shit together.

say it wif me now:

SOLLY CHOLLY, NO GLOT, CLOM FLIDAY.

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